


Buried Ruins

by Ethereal_Wishes



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Blind Character, Blindness, F/M, Fairy Tale Curses, Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27336364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereal_Wishes/pseuds/Ethereal_Wishes
Summary: Richard Gold has a haunted past he longs to escape. He finds himself settling into the sleepy town of Storybrooke. He becomes the tutor of a young blind woman, whose father is ready to pawn away on the first unsuspecting fool. The French family has a damming secret, Richard will find he’d rather have stayed far away from.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 22
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

He stared at the brass doorknocker, fidgeting slightly. The suit he was wearing clung to him like a second skin. He wiped beads of sweat from his brow as he clasped the brass handle, allowing it to slip through his fingers swiftly. The noise it made wasn't subtle but not overly obnoxious either. He could hear footfalls coming closer and then the door was being opened for him.

"We weren't expecting you for at least another week, Mr-" the maid clucked with the rest of his name still caught in her throat like an incomplete thought.

"Gold…" he nodded politely, yet slightly annoyed by her reaction as she studied him like an offensive smudge of wallpaper.

"Yes, well come inside then,” she complied, opening the door for him. He carried a lone suitcase in his left hand while balancing his cane with his right. He walked into a dimly lit foyer. The maid paused, staring at the occupant sitting in the chair - feet propped up, watching a muted baseball game.

"Mr. French, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but Mr. Gold has arrived,” she clipped, staring at him offhandedly. He hoped the rest of Mr. French's household didn't treat him like an eyesore. He knew he wasn't pleasant to look at, but must people remind him of his defect daily?

"Mr. Gold, I thought you weren't arriving until the seventeenth?" Mr. French interjected as he spun his chair around to study him. He expected him to gasp in horror at his scarred face, but he seemed unmoved.

"I thought I'd come a week early and settle in. My apartment lease ran out two days ago, and I thought it would be foolish to waste money on a hotel.” Mr. Gold shrugged, leaving out the part where he'd been sleeping in a cardboard box if he had waited another week.

"Well since you're here, I guess there's no point to keep you waiting." Mr. French shrugged, clamoring out of the chair. He studied Mr. French carefully surmising he wasn't a picture of health from his smoker's cough and loud wheezing. He led him down another dimly lit hallway with intricately decorated doors on each side. The mansion looked ghastly from the outside but was a thing of beauty inside.

"Your room and board are included in the job. You'll work five days a week from 11:00 am-4:00 pm. The rest of the time you may do as you see fit. You'll get three square meals a day, and I'll expect you in the dining hall on time. Breakfast is at seven, lunch is at twelve, and dinner is at five. You may skip meals if you like but don't expect any leftovers or midnight snacks. You'll have to pay for those out of your own pocket with your monthly salary,” Mr. French informed as they moved down the hall.

"I understand everything, Mr. French…I read the contract thoroughly,” he supplied, mildly annoyed by his mannerisms.

"Call me Maurice,” he insisted, but before Mr. Gold could retort, they'd stopped moving.

He stopped near a doorway, clearly out of breath, rapping lightly on the door. Mr. Gold heard light footsteps, then the door creaked open revealing a young woman around thirty. She sported a pixie cut, smiling at Maurice with her catlike gaze.  
"Ms. Nolan, has Isabelle finished her lesson yet?" He idled, waiting for her response.

"Yes, we just finished five minutes ago…I was just about to leave.” The black haired woman smiled warmly, opening the door for them.

"Mr. Gold, wait outside a moment,” he commanded, sliding beside her into the room. The green eyed woman smiled warmly at Mr. Gold, holding out her hand.

"I'm Mary Margret, Isabelle's linguistics tutor,” the woman responded kindly, firmly shaking his suitcase free hand.

"I'm Richard Gold, and I'm to be Ms. French's History, English, science, teacher, and whatever else I need to be,” he greeted her politely until a small smirk crept across her face.

"Isabelle is one of a kind, Mr. Gold, and she's definitely not shy about anything, but I'm sure you'll figure that out sooner than later." She grinned, making her way down the hall. He stiffened at Mary Margret's comment. He was sure Isabelle would be anything but open with him.  
He was pulled from his thoughts when Mr. French opened the door. He made a flourishing motion with his hand, obliging him to enter. Richard followed him inside the room turned out to be an expansive library.

"Isabelle, this is Mr. Gold, he will be your new teacher,” Maurice stated, moving out of the way of a large, red velvet armchair. Mr. Gold felt his breath hitch in his throat and couldn't help but gape at the woman in front of him. She was thin but not in an unattractive way. She had her feet curled up beside her comfortably. Chestnut curls framed her face beautifully. She looked up at him. He found something peculiar about her eyes and that's when he realized she was blind.

"Mr. Gold, can you please come a bit closer?" Isabelle inquired, and he was sure he would've kissed the carpet if that's what she'd commanded him  
in her beautiful, rich accent.

"Yes, of course." He inhaled sharply, standing in front of her.

"A bit closer,” she told him until he was just inches from her face. He wasn't prepared for what happened next. She cupped his face in her hands allowing her fingers to roam freely over his features. He shuddered with delight at the feel of her nimble fingers exploring his face, running them through his dirty brown hair.

"What's your first name, Mr. Gold?" she spoke carefully, setting his nerves on edge from her soft, expansive touch.

"Richard,” he managed to sputter, and he felt her smile.

"Richard…" she rolled her tongue tasting his name like a new wine. “Is it a family name?"

"Nothing like that,” he whispered, feeling himself come undone as she dusted a finger along his cheek until she found that wretched scar. He knew she must be repulsed by her discovery. He was thankful she couldn't see him, or she would demand he leave.

"What a deep scar…What happened?" The sound of her voice so soft and fragile, he thought she might break.

"It's a burn wound…" he lied quickly, unwilling to delve into his past.

"I see…" she said, allowing her fingers to fall past his face. He could still feel her warmth lingering upon his features.

"Isabelle, Mr. Gold is going to be staying here with us…He'll be continuing your studies with you after Ms. Blanchard leaves,” Maurice cut in, relieving the heavy tension in the air.

"What sort of subjects will we be studying together, Richard?" she inquired curiously - big blue eyes boring into him as if she were searching his soul for a heavy secret,

"History, Literature, and science if you wish,” he replied, afraid to breathe in such close proximity of her.

"I would like that…I look forward to our lessons, and I hope you'll enjoy your stay here,” she returned politely, curling her feet back under herself. She picked up a worn paperback, sliding her fingers over the raised print.

"The pleasure is all mine, Ms. French." Mr. Gold smiled even though she couldn't see it. He couldn't help but smile at this curious girl in front of him, he was sure would be his undoing.


	2. Chapter 2

Richard had just finished unpacking his things when he heard a knock at the door. He looked at the clock on the wall. He wondered who it could be? Dinner was in half and hour. He opened the door, ready to be rid of who it might be as quickly as possible. He hoped it wasn't that impudent maid from his earlier.

He was baffled to see. Maurice French, standing in front of his door. “Mr. French, is there something I can do for you?" he spoke quickly hoping he hadn't offended his new "boss".

"I came by to invite you to have lunch with me in my study, Mr. Gold. I have much to discuss with you,” he imparted, causing him to flinch at the thought of discussing anything with his new employer.

"Of course!" He nodded frantically, grabbing his cane. He swallowed his cowardice as he followed Maurice down the long hallway. He noticed the familiar room he'd been in that morning. He hadn't taken the time to familiarize himself with his surroundings earlier, but he noticed a table with three chairs present.

"Will someone else be joining us?" Gold inquired, observing the third chair.

"Belle usually has lunch with me on Wednesday, and Mary Margret likes to join us from time to time. I like to keep a third chair if necessary,” he said, opening up a small cabinet, producing a bottle of scotch.

"Would you like a drink, Mr. Gold?" he inquired, producing two shot glasses. 

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I only drink water with my meals for health purposes,” he remarked.

Maurice shrugged. "Suit yourself." 

Mr. Gold settled in the chair directly in front of him. Maurice poured himself a glass of scotch before setting the bottle aside.

"Dinner will be brought in momentarily…I hope you like steak?" 

“Yes,that will be fine."

The two men were silent for a few moments before Maurice cleared his throat. “I would like to talk to you about Isabelle. I could tell that little encounter with her earlier flustered you quite a bit. My Isabelle is a very inquisitive girl, who doesn't know much about personal space. Her greeting earlier was just to get to know you because she's blind,” he explained, causing Mr. Gold's stomach to knot from the feel of her supple hands caressing his face earlier.

"I took no offense to her actions,” he said, absentmindedly smoothing out his tie.

"You mean, my beautiful Isabelle didn't effect you at all? She's always been a peculiar child, but I'm sure you'll figure that out in a few days,” he smirked, taking another swig of his scotch.

Mr. Gold decided against making a retort to Maurice's statement. The maid from earlier brought in two plates. She gave him a perturbed look before sitting the food in front of him. He flinched when he heard the platter clink upon the glass. He ignored her behavior, studying the generous rib eye in front of him, accompanied by a garden salad, and baked potato.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she inquired, locking eyes with Mr. French, completely ignoring him. He inwardly shrugged, he was used to her behavior.

"No that will be all, Clarice…Thank you,” Maurice replied, sending her away.

"She seems nice…" Mr. Gold muttered, buttering his potato.

Maurice failed to hear his statement and continued eating. The only sounds between them were the movement of utensils. Maurice finally broke the silence with a smoldering question. “What brings you to Storybrooke, Mr. Gold? You seemed very eager to take this position."

"Please, call me Richard,” he stammered, becoming unnerved by his question. He knew this conversation was bound to come up eventually. He sifted through his mind, finding the answer he'd rehearsed.

"Storybrooke is a quiet town, and I've grown tired working in the bigger cities. I'm forty eight years old, and I just wish for a nice, quiet life. Storybrooke seemed that type of place to me,” he stated calmly, hoping his resolve didn't break. Mr. French couldn't ever know the real reason why he'd came to Storybrooke. This seemed like the last place anyone would dare look.

"Yes, it's a quaint little town. I'm sure you'll enjoy it here,” he returned, his eyes reflecting something unsettling, Richard didn’t dare delve into.

~X~

Mr. Gold wandered back to his quarters. He noticed the clock read 7:30 when he finally returned. He slipped off his shoes, placing them beside the bed next to his cane. He was exhausted and a hot shower seemed like the best idea before turning in. The room was more spacious than anything he'd ever lived in before. The room held a four poster queen size bed, oaken wardrobe, a dresser, book shelf, ample closet space, his own private bathroom, and several tasteful pieces of artwork hung on the wall.

He unbuttoned his shirt, slipping out of his slacks. He walked into the bathroom, turning the lock behind him. He turned on the hot water, fogging up the mirror. He watched his reflection fade in the mirror, mingled with steam. He ran his finger down the long, protruding scar which marred the entire right side of his face.

He hated mirrors, feeling like the most hideous of beasts every time he was confronted with one. He ran his fingers through his dirty brown hair in frustration. 

He turned away from his reflection, shedding the rest of his clothing. He stepped under the scalding water, wishing his defect would ebb away.

He eventually stepped out from underneath the stinging current, drying off. He pulled on a pair of flannel pajamas, sinking underneath the covers. He flipped off the single lamp in his room, welcoming the darkness. 

He was startled when he heard the sounds of desperate crying coming from beyond his door. He blinked, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He turned on the lamp, wiping sleep from his eyes. The clock on his nightstand flashed 3:00. He grabbed his cane and stood up, wincing under the protest of his leg as he trudged over to the door. He placed his head against the frame, listening for those desperate cries he'd heard just moments before. He listened for a moment but decided to go back to bed when he heard nothing more.

He turned off the light, snuggling back under the covers. He fell into a restless sleep the rest of the night, haunted by those mysterious screams.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Richard limped down to the dining hall. He was there before seven and grabbed himself a muffin, piece of toast, and a glass of orange juice before retiring back to his chamber. He wasn't much for mingling and if the rest of the faculty was anything like Clarice, then he'd be dining in his room permanently.

  
He ate his food and decided to prepare Belle's lesson. She was working on her doctorial degree. She held a bachelors in English Literature, Masters in Journalism, EDS in Linguistics, and was now pursuing a doctoral in Ancient History while continuing to minor in linguistics. He studied the records he'd been given, noting she'd graduated high school at sixteen, and was now twenty-eight working on a doctorial she would finish in another year-the exact length of his contract.

He would have a backup plan by then. Perhaps he could settle among the townsfolk of Storybrooke after saving up some of his earnings from Mr. French. The time went by quickly, and Mr. Gold noted it was exactly 10:53. He gathered up his things, heading for the library.

Mrs. Nolan was already on her way out by the time he reached the door. "She's all yours!" She bid him a smile before they parted ways. Richard gulped back the bile in his throat nervously before entering her sanctuary.

Isabelle was wearing a pair of blue jeans with a silky light blue button up shirt. She was currently barefoot which made him smile, clearly comfortable with surroundings.

"Hello, Ms. French!" Mr. Gold chirped as he settled in the chair opposite from her.

He watched as her face lit up when she  
heard his voice. “Richard!" She beamed before enveloping him in a friendly embrace. He felt himself stiffen from her touch but quickly patted her back for reassurance. She felt so tiny and fragile in his arms as if she might break.

"I brought the literature we'll be studying today. I thought we could start out with a bit of review today,” he interjected, pulling out a large textbook.

"May I see it?" she inquired, and he blushed at the irony of her words. She took the heavy tome in her arms, opening it to the beginning page. The Braille pages were parallel from the regular print.

Richard watched as she ran her fingers over the raised text quietly as if she were in deep thought. He watched her smile before she passed the tome back to him. "Please review me over whatever topic you'd like. I'm a big Jeopardy fan, so how about we make a game out of it?" she bit her lip quietly awaiting an answer.

"Yes ,of course.” Richard smirked, wondering exactly what she had up her sleeve.

He spent a few moments jotting down questions and making categories. Isabelle waited eagerly like a kid in a candy shop. He placed the questions in categories: Egyptian History, Greece, The Roman Empire, Chinese Dynasties, and American History category.

"All right, which category would you like to tackle first?" he inquired after reading them off to her.

"Greece for $800 please!" she requested with anticipation.

Mr. Gold couldn't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm as he read the question off in his best game show host voice, making her giggle. "Ms. French, what are Homer's two most famed works called?"

"That would be the Iliad and Odyssey." she retorted with a confident smile.

"Ding! Ding! Ding! You're correct, Ms. French! Please pick another category!" Richard applauded, completely losing himself in her eyes.

"American history for $600." she requested.

"Who started their speech with "I have a dream?" he inquired, and Isabelle couldn't help but laugh.

"Is that really a $600 worthy question Mr. Gold, or are you not confident in my abilities?" she smirked, drawing closer to him, mere inches from his face. She was so close he could feel her warm breath on his neck. She really had no use for personal space, he surmised.

"I don't doubt your abilities one bit, Ms. French." he stated, boldly shuddering at the feel of her ringlets tickling his face.

"Belle,” she breathed, so close to his lips now.

"Ms. French, I don't believe that's the correct-" but he was startled when she placed one of her fingers to his lips, silencing him.

  
"Call me Belle, Richard…" She smiled sweetly, pulling away from him. He could finally begin to feel the oxygen filling his lungs again.

"Well Belle, what is your answer then?" He tested the sweet taste of her name on his lips as it rolled out of his mouth in a rich, Scottish accent.

"Martin Luther King Jr,” she supplied as they continued their game. She answered every single one of his questions correctly. He was certain her textbook would just be a useless waste of pages during this course.

Mr. Gold yawned as they finished up their final textbook reading. Isabelle seemed restless and ready to turn in for the day. The clock chimed 4:00 before he could blink, and he knew their first day had ended.

"Well, Ms. Fre- I mean, Belle, it seems that we're finished for the day,” he said, listening to the chiming clock.

"Yes it does…I guess there isn't a chance you'd join me for dinner is there?" Belle offered, biting her lip nervously. He felt his heart skip a beat from such a simple request. No one had ever desired his company before, let alone asked for it.

"I would love to, Ms. French but haven't you grown tired of me?" he insisted, knowing it was too good to be true.

"Absolutely not, Richard! I can safely say that you're the most intriguing individual I've ever met." She grinned. He was so surprised by her statement that his tongue felt like it had turned into the thickest peanut butter in the world.

"Really?" he comeback, unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Why of course! You're a brilliant man, full of so much intellect. You're funny and witty and well, Richard, I greatly enjoy your company,” she remarked, making him feel like he was in an alternate universe.

"Well, Belle, I can't say I get compliments like that often…I'm usually the last guy picked for the other guy’s team,” he muttered quietly, but she’d heard him.

"Well, Mr. Gold, you've been playing on the wrong team then,” she supplied, and he couldn't help but genuinely smile for the first time in ages.

Belle fueled most of the conversation by talking about her favorite pieces of literature. He would make a comment from time to time but was more intent on listening. The simple dinner of fruit and casserole was eaten, and the conversation was dying down once the clock chimed. He looked up, rather stunned at how much time had passed.

"Ms. French, it's 8:00.…Shouldn't we be turning in?" he inquired as a streak of lightning suddenly crackled outside.

"Yes, I suppose,” Belle remarked uncomfortably, rising to her feet.

"Well I'll see you in the morning then, Ms. French,” Richard said, now standing quietly by the door.

"Yes, I'll see you in the morning,” she said rather quickly, he could've sworn he heard her voice quivering the whole time. He shook off his false presumptions, making his way down the dimly lit hallway towards his quarters.

After he showered and studied their reading material for tomorrow, he decided to call it a night. The storm was surging outside, and he could hear the wind beating against the house. He turned off his lamp and pulled the covers over his head, hoping to block out the sound of the thunder. He soon felt himself slipping away into a restless sleep, until he heard her piercing screams throughout the corridors.


End file.
